


Of Ice and Hunts

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betaed, Coma, Crushes, Fae & Fairies, First Kiss, Hurt Sam, M/M, Sam Has A Wolf, Sam Wants a Dog, Sam Winchester Big Bang 2017, Saving People Hunting Things, Season/Series 12 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9981977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Waking up in the icy depths of what he thinks is the wilderness near Kirwin, Wyoming, Sam quickly learns that he's fallen into the fairy realm. Relying on the help of others to survive, Sam attempts to make his own way home.Back in the mortal realm, Dean turns to the help of the Banes in order to bring his brother back to him. But nothing is as straightforward as it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [2016-17 Sam Winchester Big Bang](http://sammybigbang.livejournal.com).
> 
> Thank you so much to [2blueshoes](http://2blueshoes.livejournal.com/) for their fantastic art for this bang. It is just perfect. [You can find the art master post here](http://2blueshoes.livejournal.com/30478.html).
> 
> And thank you so much to my betas [what_about_the_fish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish), [youpumpkinhead](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/yopumpkinhead)/[fallintosanity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity/works) and [majestic_duck](http://archiveofourown.org/users/majestic_duck) for being my beta readers for this fic.
> 
> For those of you wondering, I have a thing for Sam having a dog. I think he should have a dog, that he deserves to finally have a dog on the show. This story was partially created on this premise, but then twisted for plotty reasons. Because I love plot.
> 
> And on Sam/Max: after seeing those two interact in 12x06, I had to write something about the two of them.

Stinging breeze blowing over him, Sam opened his crusted eyes and looked, as best he could, around the den he’d been pulled into. He assumed pulled, because he didn’t remember crawling into it himself. There was snow on the air. He tried stretching his limbs, but it hurt to move, his body feeling like he’d been trampled by the Cowboys. He felt weak from hunger, and exposure. His jeans and jacket were torn, his shirts covered in grime—he could smell himself.

The den was so low Sam couldn’t stand in it, even if he’d had the energy to stand in the first place. He’d been laid out on a bed of moss and pine needles, and as his sight adjusted to the den’s light he could see tufts of reddish-brown fur here and there. Gray-puce slate surrounded Sam on three sides, edges jagged and smooth. The den’s opening wasn’t far, and through the small circle of light, Sam saw pine green and exposed earth. It looked like he was on the side of a ridge, but where that ridge was he couldn’t remember. Birds chittered in the trees, but there was little else to be heard aside from his own breathing.

Gingerly lifting a hand to the back of his head, Sam felt at a knot that was there; it stung when touched. He’d definitely hit his head, but again: how he’d managed to hit his head he didn’t know. The last thing he remembered was sitting in a diner in Cody, Wyoming with Dean, going over the details of a wendigo hunt they’d found in Shoshone National Forest, with an old gold mine by Kirwin looking the likely location of the beast. A part of Sam was sure that the two of them had dealt with the wendigo, but he couldn’t remember killing it.

There’d been jokes about whether they’d need to handle any ghosts, Kirwin having been partially destroyed by an avalanche back in 1907. The former mining town was perfect ghost town material, let alone potentially being the home of a wendigo. And it was going to be a bitch to get to, but Dean had agreed to going on foot once they’d reached the end of any real roads.

Sam wondered where Dean was, because he knew his brother would be going crazy looking for him, but Sam didn’t even have the mobility to get up and start a fire and draw the attention of some rangers. Hell, two knew they were in the forest—they’d managed to convince them of the wendigo threat, after they’d admitted that it couldn’t be a grizzly or wolves responsible for the deaths of several locals.

No matter how Sam had ended up in this den, he knew that he’d probably left a trail; it was just a matter of time before Dean or the rangers found it and found him. Body as beat up as it was, and with so little in his system to keep him moving, Sam knew that his best chances of survival were to stay put. He patted himself down—just in case—but he had no cell to call for help.

“Aouwoooooooooooooo!”

The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck raised up and his heart rallied in a primal expression of fear. _That’s a wolf howling, not a coyote_ , Sam thought. He backed up towards the rear of the den and hoped that no other wolves would join its call, and it wouldn’t find him in the side of the ridge. Of course Sam had heard coyotes and wolves before—you go where the hunts are, and sometimes they’re in the middle of the wilderness.

Normally Sam would at least have a sawn off with him and his handgun—so he could scare off a wolf if he had to. Instead all he had was the hunting knife strapped to his right leg. Slipping a hand down his leg, Sam felt the familiar outline of the knife’s sheath, and the handle. Panic rose further as another howl sounded outside, Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, as he pulled his knife out. The hunting knife wouldn’t do much if a timber wolf got its jaws on Sam first, but it gave him a fighting chance.

Shuffling towards the back of the den, Sam prayed that the wolf wasn’t going to find him. Trust his luck that he’d managed to get lost in 2.5 million acres of national forest and somehow ended up in the vicinity of one of only 80 wolves that lived in the forest. Trying to focus his senses, Sam trained his ears for any sounds from outside the den, breathing shallowly as he waited. The birds that had been chittering away minutes earlier had gone completely silent and Sam felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.

“Aouwoooooooooo!” howled the wolf. It was closer this time. Sam tried to twist round in the den, put his feet towards the opening—he still had his walking boots on and they’d be enough to shock the wolf if it came in. Getting into a sitting position, Sam clutched his hunting knife, ready to strike, and prayed the wolf wasn’t going to slink into the den.

The wolf howled again, “Aouwoooooooo!” It sounded like it was almost on top of him. Sam kept his breathing shallow and tried not to move, worried that the wolf might hear every single breath he was taking.

Sam kept his eyes on the entrance to the den, gaze focused on that circle of light. Decades of training and experience pulled his weary muscles into tense springs, ready to unleash a whirlwind of motion that could see the wolf running or dead, or Sam with his throat torn out. Sam kept telling himself over and over it was no more difficult than facing off against a werewolf that had knocked him to the ground. _At least a wolf won’t have a gun_ , Sam thought bitterly, the werewolf case in Grangeville, Idaho still fresh in his memory.

A snout snuffled at the entrance and finally a fully grown timber wolf stood silhouetted by the light. Its shape looked strange around its muzzle, but Sam didn’t have time to puzzle that out as he held his knife and tensed his legs. He’d survived worse, he wasn’t about to be taken out by the local wildlife.

The wolf padded towards him, soft cautious steps. Its hackles weren’t raised, there was no low running growl in its throat. Once it was halfway between the opening and Sam, Sam could see the wolf fully: light mossy eyes, cream white fur overlaid with tans, beiges and chestnuts, black lines under its eyes—dead elk calf in its jaws.

Breath caught in his chest, Sam watched on in fascination as the wolf placed the calf on the den floor and then laid down behind the dead animal, belly to the floor. Unthreatening. Its mossy eyes pleaded with Sam in a way that reminded him of actual domesticated dogs. He glanced between the wolf and the bed he’d been laid out on. The fur beneath him matched that of the wolf’s coat and Sam tried not to think of the implications of what that meant.

Slowly, Sam put his hunting knife down and shuffled forwards on his butt, keeping his eyes on the wolf. The wolf watched him, keeping its position and submissive stance. Sam reached the dead elk calf and placed a hand on it and the wolf sat up. There was no snarling or growling, and Sam stayed perfectly still as the wolf leaned in and licked at his hand. It was, for all intents and purposes, friendly. Sam couldn’t quite believe it.

The timber wolf had brought him food. _Why?_ Sam puzzled, getting his hunting knife from behind him, choreographing his movements so that he didn’t surprise the wolf and suddenly find it was not as tame as it appeared.

Sam felt a little stupid as he considered saying something, but he still kept his voice low and asked the wolf, “Mind if I cook some of this?”

The wolf bowed its head and then started dragging the calf carcass out of the den. Sam watched it go, shocked for a few seconds, wondering if the animal had understood him. Shaking his head, Sam turned around so that he could crawl out after the wolf, taking his knife with him.

Sam shivered in the cold air, every ache and pain he had coming back with vigor. It had been surprisingly warm in the den, but outside it was more believable that snow could be on its way. He glanced around as the wolf stayed at his side, calf clamped tight in its jaws. There were some fallen branches nearby, dried out, that looked like he could start a fire with.

“Uh, just leave it there,” Sam instructed to the wolf and it did just that, dropping the meat and sitting beside it. _This is more than just a domesticated wolf._ “We’ll have a chat once the meat’s cooking.”

The wolf bobbed its head as if to say “yes” or “sure” and Sam decided not to freak out. Instead he set about building the beginnings of a fire, a few of his bones and muscles shrieked in protest as he shifted branches and part of a log. There was a hollow in the earth near the den, and Sam placed the dead wood there. Feeling around in his jacket pockets, he found an old book of matches from some bar.

Striking one match, Sam used some dry grass wound on a stick to get the fire going. He’d almost expected the wolf to bolt at the sight of flames, but it didn’t—it stayed by its kill and looked on with aloof interest.

“Okay,” Sam said, crouching down beside the wolf, “I’ll leave some for you, but I suppose you don’t want your share cooked?”

The wolf huffed and Sam took that as agreement. He used his knife to skin and carve up the meat like Bobby had taught him another lifetime ago. Hands getting bloody, Sam studied the wolf’s kill. The elk calf hadn’t been newborn, perhaps three months old, which meant the wolf had managed to separate it from the herd. And with apparently no pack that was quite some achievement for this tawny colored timber wolf.

“Your share,” Sam announced, pointing to the meat he’d prepared, with plenty of bone for the wolf to chew on if it wanted. _If Dean or those rangers find me now, they’re going to think I’m crazy_ , Sam thought, going over to the warmed fire with his share of the meat. Sam skewered it on freshly cut sticks that would hopefully be moist enough not to catch light; he heard the wolf’s jaws snapping as he worked to cook his share.

The calf had been lean and there wasn’t much fat to sizzle as Sam roasted it over the open flames. He kept glancing towards the sky and the horizon, trying to figure out where he was in Shoshone. If he could at least remember the area around the gold mine, then maybe he could have figured out a path back towards civilization, but Sam didn’t recognize this part of the forest.

But he recognized the weather that would be coming in, warming himself as he cooked. Fat snow clouds were on the horizon as the sun started to set, _so that’s west_. Sam planned to cook all of his share of the calf and somehow save some of what he ate, even if meant stuffing it in his pockets. There was no way he was getting down from this ridge before the storm came in.

The elk was darker than beef, but it seemed pretty simple to cook through—Sam had only watched this part before, never participated. He tried not to think about things he might catch from the meat and promised himself to get a check up once he was safe. Sam looked over at the wolf and thought about the fur that was in the den. Either he’d crawled in or the wolf had dragged him in, but the den was definitely the wolf’s. He just couldn’t fathom why a wolf would drag him into its den if not for food, but he was definitely not dinner. The elk calf proved that, along with him still having his own throat.

Sam looked over his grimy clothes; there were tears in places, but also some holes that could have been made by a wolf’s teeth. Checking the meat over, Sam decided it was cooked and placed it on top of a flat stone. Shewering another piece of meat, Sam started cooking it and looked over at the wolf. It was watching him with keen interest, a thigh bone between its jaws as it tried to crack it open to get at the marrow inside.

“Thank you… for saving me, I guess. And for the food,” Sam said, giving the wolf a thankful smile.

The wolf snorted and went back to chewing.

“You understand me, don’t you?”

The wolf snorted again and made a keening sound.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no. Did you rescue me?” Sam asked.

The wolf blinked its mossy eyes once, but Sam knew that could mean anything.

He needed a “no” question. “Am I a wolf?”

The wolf quirked its head to the side, almost giving Sam a look of disbelief and blinked twice, each one slow and deliberate. _The wolf understands me._

“Sorry, had to be sure. Are you a skinwalker?”

Two blinks. The wolf could be lying, but a skinwalker had nothing to gain from Sam being alive and going to all this effort for him. In the long run it would have made more sense for a skinwalker to have left him to die of exposure.

“Were you turned into a wolf by some kind of curse?”

Another two blinks. Sam went back to the meat, and when it was ready set that one down and picked up another strip, skewering it on a fresh stick. Pushing the meat out over the fire, he tried to think just how it could come to be that he was talking with a wolf, short of hallucinating the entire thing.

Sam glanced around his surroundings. Everything seemed real, like the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the cold leeching up the ground and into his butt. He grabbed the first strip of cooked elk and started chewing on it, thoughtful as he ate, the meat stronger than beef to taste, but softer. When he’d finished that strip, here wasn’t much left and so Sam worked on cooking the remaining pieces, an eye on the cloudy horizon, contemplating his unusual dining companion.

A lone snowflake drifted down from the heavens and Sam sighed. He would have worried about finding freshwater, but Sam knew that by the time night was done, he’d be able to grab some snow to slake his thirst. Putting the cooked meat in his pockets, Sam carefully kicked dirt over the fire and then crawled back into the den.

The temperature had dropped significantly over the last ten minutes and Sam started to shiver as he settled down on the bed the wolf had made. Without calling the wolf, the wolf padded in, holding the remains of its share of the elk in its jaws. Sam sat and the wolf curled up beside him, calf nearby.

“We’ll need a new system,” Sam said to the wolf as the light outside the cave started to dim, the snow falling in flurries beyond the den. “One nudge yes and two nudges no. Do you understand?”

The wolf nudged Sam’s hand once and Sam sighed as he and the wolf shared body heat, he with an arm over the animal. Inside the den, Sam ignored the rank smells of himself and the meat. His hand started to stroke the wolf and it gave a happy rumble.

Watching the entrance to the den, Sam wondered if the wolf had a name. Snow started to pile up outside the entrance and Sam decided to lay out on the bed while he could still see what he was doing. The wolf shifted and laid out beside him, curling around his long bent frame. Sam appreciated the gesture and some heat was trapped between them, though the wolf’s fur kept most of its heat trapped to its own body.

“Don’t worry. Not gonna go total Han Solo on you,” Sam murmured into the wolf’s neck. That got him a lick to his forehead and Sam chuckled. Partly in appreciation and partly to stop a creeping sense of hysteria crawling up out of himself.


	2. Chapter 2

“Who found him like this?”

“Daniels, last night just before the storm hit. Had to call a copter in to get your brother out.”

“Christ… Shit, Sam.”

“Doc Taylor should be by any minute now, she’ll know what’s up.”

“Why’s he so damn cold? Heating’s on, he’s got a million blankets on him.”

A hand stroked over Sam’s forehead and his eyes flew open. It was dark, but he could feel and smell the wolf still beside him.

“Dean?” Sam whispered to himself, unsure quite what he had been dreaming of. He didn’t know any Doctor Taylor. Shivering and scrunching up a little, Sam tried to warm himself before moving his still aching body. It was like he’d fallen ass over teakettle down the side of a steep hill— _would explain the pain and the bump on my head_ , Sam theorized.

“Hey,” Sam said softly to the wolf, “do you think it’s stopped snowing?”

A muzzle nudged at him once for yes and Sam started to uncurl. The wolf licked at his chin, like a dog might and Sam couldn’t help chuckling at that. It felt like a simple act of affection, saying “yep, we made it through the snowstorm”.

The wolf had an easy time twisting around inside the den and creeped out towards the entrance, Sam on its heels. Clearly experienced at digging itself out, the wolf made short work of the snow that had piled up against the entrance to the den. Sunlight broke through and Sam had to blink his eyes to adjust to the light as the wolf slid outside and he slowly crawled out after it.

Nothing remained of the world he’d known before the snowy night, bar the pines further down the ridge. Grabbing a handful of untouched snow, Sam crushed some of it into his mouth, braced for the chill, his mouth parched. He took a couple of mouthfuls of snow, ignoring the pain it made in his teeth and then clapped the remaining snow from his reddening hands. There was no wind and the skies were clear, but Sam could feel that it was just below freezing. He needed to either hole up again and wait for less snow, or make a decision on where to go.

Stepping behind some dead tree trunks, Sam concealed himself from the wolf as he took care of his business. The wolf made no move to follow him, as if knowing what he was doing. Coming back out around the trunks, he saw the wolf squatting in the snow as it dealt with its own and he realized that the wolf was most probably a she.

Averting his gaze while the she wolf finished up, Sam scanned the horizon and the trees below. Based on where the sun had gone down the day before, he had a rough idea where west was, the sun’s current position meaning it was still early morning and that to head for the treeline would take him east. Sam wondered if he was near Kirwin at all—he could see no sign of anything that looked liked the former mining community, no shacks or trails, though his only memories of the place were photos and videos he’d encountered while researching the hunt.

What he did see though was a trail of smoke snaking up through the trees below him, like there was a chimney in there… _or, y’know, a thing that has a chimney, like a cabin_. Sam glanced over to the wolf and he pointed towards the trees.

“Hey, there’s a cabin near by,” Sam said, thinking about how he wished he’d found it before the storm last night. Not that he was completely ungrateful—the wolf had helped keep him safe and warm. “Maybe I can find help there?”

The wolf bobbed its head and shoulders in a way that looked like it could have been a shrug, but she wandered over to Sam. Taking another look towards the trees, Sam checked he hadn’t imagined the smoke. It looked to be a half a mile away, nothing major, which was good, because he was really beginning to feel cold again.

Knife now secured to his belt, Sam started picking his way down the side of the peak, the wolf padding by his side. “What do I call you?” Sam wondered out loud.

The wolf snorted, padding ahead of Sam and looked over its shoulder as to suggest “well?”

“How does… Tawny sound?” Sam suggested, looking at the mix of browns that made up the wolf’s coat.

The wolf stopped in its tracks, turned to face Sam and blinked once.

“Alright, Tawny, let’s go find that cabin.” Sam caught up with the wolf and the two of them headed into the pines. Fishing in his pockets, Sam pulled out the last of the elk and gnawed on the meat as they walked.

Snow crunched underfoot and Sam hoped that they wouldn’t meet any of the other big predators that lived in Shoshone—bears, cougars or other wolves. Stuffing his hands under his arms, Sam ignored the twinges of his muscles as he continued in the direction of  the smoke. The uneven ground meant it took longer than expected to reach the cabin, but soon Sam and Tawny had it in their sights as they stood just outside the clearing it sat in.

Instinct stopped Sam from rushing out to possible salvation. He didn’t remember seeing any habitable cabins on maps for the area surrounding Kirwin. The structure in front of him was unusual, considering he was out in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness.

It had a tall peaked wooden roof, with green painted wooden tiles shaped like scales. Cherry red window frames and doors. Round windows with cute green shutters that matched the roof. Wooden slat walls painted a mint shade of green. Snow gathered here and there. The house looked like something from the front of a Christmas card, some fairytale ideal of a home within the Arctic Circle. Or a witch’s home straight out of European folklore, just minus the gingerbread. The round windows glowed with the light of lanterns and a warm fire.

“Know anything about this place?” Sam asked in a whisper.

Tawny nudged his hand twice. Hesitation creeping through him, Sam slowly stepped up towards the cabin and peeked in through one of the windows. He could see a woman with blonde, braided hair pottering about by a large pine kitchen table, chopping winter greens with a large knife. She was dressed in a simple red dress and cream blouse, the top half of the dress tied with red ribbon criss-crossing up her stomach and stopping just below her ample breasts.

Sam started to think that maybe he was either no longer near Kirwin or that he was dreaming everything. He shivered and decided that he couldn’t be dreaming; the cold felt all too real and he smelled like a garbage heap. Moving away from the window, Sam walked up to what looked like the front door, Tawny staying to the side out of sight, and knocked.

From inside the cabin he could hear furniture moving and then the door was pulled open. The woman gave Sam a concerned and curious look then spoke. Sam didn’t understand a word of what she said.

“Sorry, I don’t understand you,” Sam said shaking his head.

The woman’s eyes lit up and she cleared her throat. “It’s I who am sorry. I should have realized you weren’t from these parts. Poor _man_ , you look half starved and frozen. Please come in inside.”

It was the way that the woman emphasized “man” that stopped Sam from just accepting her offer. The language she’d spoken had been one Sam didn’t know intimately, but as he played the words over in his head, he heard hints of several ancient Celtic and Scandinavian dialects. _Like the language of the fae_ , Sam looked at the woman and tried to keep his face neutral.

“Uh… If… If I come inside, you won’t place any obligations upon me should I partake of your hospitality?”

The woman’s warm demour flickered to sourness for a moment, but then she smiled again. “I will not place any obligations upon you. You will be free to go when you so desire.”

Tawny chose that moment to headbutt Sam’s thigh and the woman jumped back a little. Looking between the timber wolf and the woman, Sam noticed how Tawny’s hackles were raised more than they had been so far. And if the woman really was a fae then it made sense that Tawny would be on edge—Sam was too. Dean had made it very clear that not all fae were like Gilda after his encounter with some while Sam had been soulless. The leprechaun Sam had dealt with when he was soulless hadn’t endeared him towards fae either.

“Tawny, you can wait outside, right?” Sam asked the wolf.

That got him a quick short nudge to his hand then she trotted away, throwing a look back towards him before disappearing between the pines. Focusing back on the fae woman, Sam smiled as politely as he could.

“Do you have a name, stranger?” the fae woman asked, moving aside so Sam could come into her home.

Almost about to say his own name, Sam stopped and quickly thought of an alias. He didn’t need to give the fae any further power over him. “Stephen,” Sam said as the door closed behind him.

The fae hesitated before finally answering, “I’m Rosie,” copying Sam’s own attempts to protect himself.

“Thank you, Rosie… You have such a charming home.” And it was, with its low ceiling; wooden chairs and surfaces; homemade cushions; jars of homemade preservatives; large fireplace with cooking hooks and shelves; herbs drying from the rafters and all open planned. It was quaint and like it was from another age. A staircase led up into the roofspace at the back of the kitchen, and a closed door looked like it belonged to a bedroom. There was a large metal bath hanging from one wall.

Rosie stood in the middle of her home and gave Sam an appraising look. “You know, I think some of my brother’s old clothes would fit you and you could certainly do with a bath.”

“Sorry for the smell.” Sam gave Rosie a sheepish look and blushed.

“It’s no problem, really, but if you could fetch your bathwater from the well, that would be a great help. There’s some buckets there.” Rosie pointed to another corner of the kitchen. “I’ll heat it up on the fire once you’ve brought it in.”

“Sure thing.” Picking up the buckets, Sam trotted outside again. The well was on the other side of the house to the front door. Trooping round, Sam worked the crank for the well’s bucket, ignoring his protesting muscles and the cold, promising himself it wouldn’t be for much longer.

Soon he’d brought in enough water and Rosie heated most of it by the side of the fire. Getting down the bath from the wall, Sam saw that it was going to be a tight fit, though was thankful that it had high sides.

“You have such unusual clothes,” Rosie remarked when the bath was finally ready and Sam had climbed into it. She was studying Sam’s clothing to see if any of it could be salvaged. His knife was by the bath, on the floor. The water was nicely hot and there was honey scented soap—Sam wanted to relax, but knew he could not, even if Rosie was on the other side of the room with her back turned to him.

“I’m not from—”

“Around here. I know,” Rosie cut Sam off. “You’re from the mortal plane.” Rosie walked behind the tub and headed into where Sam believed her bedroom to be. He heard drawers opening and closing. Sam had a feeling he wasn’t near Kirwin any more.

“Rosie, where am I?” Sam asked as the fae walked back into the room.

One of the chairs by the table was dragged along the floor and Sam waited as Rosie sat down. “You’re in the Kingdom of Oberon,” Rosie explained in a careful tone.

“I’m not in Wyoming?”

“No… you’re not.” Rosie cleared her throat and settled back to chopping greens.

Slipping a hand behind his head, Sam felt the bump on the back of his skull and cringed. “I don’t remember how I got here.”

The chopping paused. “You likely stepped into a fairy ring on your side, but the storm last night would have closed that ring. There are so few when winter comes,” Rosie explained. “It would be easier to find someone who could send you back.”

“Who could send me back?” Sam ducked his head under the water and came back up. He started to soap his hair. Fairy rings were a part of law he’d reacquainted himself with while looking through the Men of Letter archives for information on Zanna last year, before he understood they weren’t fairies.

“A fae more powerful than myself—a member of Oberon’s court or Oberon himself. You might still find a ring, but you would almost certainly be waiting until spring with the weather coming in like it is.”

Sam ducked his head under the water again and rinsed his hair. Coming back up, he wiped the water away from his eyes and sighed, because there was no use in panicking.

“How far is the court?” Sam asked. He started to soap up the rest of his body, trying not to pay much attention to the way the water was changing color from all the muck and grime coming away from his skin.

“Two days on foot from here. Maybe three if another storm like last night’s were to strike.”  Rosie got up and left several folded pieces of linen cloth in a place Sam would be able to reach. “To dry yourself,” she said and then hurried away again, returning to chopping winter greens.

Rinsing the last off the soap off, Sam asked, “If you wouldn’t mind giving me with some supplies, I’ll be on my way soon.”

Rosie’s chopping paused for a moment. “You don’t have to rush.”

But Sam did need to rush home if he didn’t want Dean to panic. “I need to return to my brother.”

For some some minutes all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire. Sam mentioning a brother had obviously affected Rosie and he worried that he had something wrong.

Rosie took a long drawn out breath from the other side of the room. “I understand,” she said, voice somber. “If I could see Martinus again, I would.”

“Was Martinus your brother?” asked Sam.

“Yes,” Rosie replied. And then she told Sam about her brother who had died in the last war to blight the kingdom, over one thousand years ago. The two of them talked of the losses they had had in their lives as Sam dried and finally dressed. Fae or human: the emptiness and hurt of loss was the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Tawny waited just outside the door of Rosie’s home. There were fresh flecks of blood around her muzzle, but no other sign she had been hunting. When Sam headed back outside into the snow, the sky overhead clear, Sam felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He hadn’t realized just how worried he had been that Rosie’s generosity would prove to be false and that she would break her promises.

Sam had no desire to become some plaything for a fae, regardless of how much they had shared while Sam had briefly recuperated. Dragging down a lungful of crisp biting air, Sam turned to Rosie and waved a hand, unspoken thanks over the change of clothes and warm things, and a bag of provisions that Rosie had provided.

Rosie had given Sam a tightly woven blue tunic, lined with brown fur, and it was supplemented by leggings and fur lined pants; leather, calf long boots that Sam was sure had been enchanted to fit his gigantic feet; a fur cloak made from the whitest fur he had ever seen and a matching set of gloves. The provisions were in a satchel strapped to his back, the straps going through purpose made holes in the cloak. He also had a piece of parchment with a crude map of where he needed to go to.

“Here, please take this.” Rosie offered a silver longsword, its scabbard attached to a leather belt, and a fine looking fighting staff, its dark wood finely honed.

Tears came to Sam’s eyes, but he refused to cry. “Rosie, this is too much.”

The fae shook her splendid braided head. “You need these… Martinus would not have wanted them to go unused.” Hurt shone in Rosie’s eyes and he came to truly appreciate how the loss of her brother had been more than a footnote in Rosie’s long life.

“Then I will take them and use them to stay safe,” Sam announced, accepting the gifts. He put the sword on his left side. He kept the staff in his left hand, seeing that he could use it to aid him in walking. It was more than Sam was used to carrying, but he felt safer for having his own weapons. Even if it had been some time since he had trained with a staff or a sword.

“I hope not to see you again, Stephen. Safe travels.” Rosie smiled.

“Thank you, and thank you for everything. Stay safe.” Sam grinned and then turned, Tawny falling in at his side.

Rosie’s door closed behind them. A second passed during which Sam felt incredibly alone and then Tawny headbutted his thigh, and the moment passed. The two of them struck out following the directions Rosie had given them, heading first towards what would be a meadow in warmer weather. It has a burned tree at its center.

The sky was clear above the snow covered pines, which Sam was thankful for, but he was less thankful for how quiet the snow made everything. Anything that would be interested in him or Tawny would find it hard to hear their approach, but similarly it would be hard for them to hear any oncoming threats. Pushing forward with the fighting staff in hand, Sam’s body was tense with anticipation—just because Tawny and Rosie had been so agreeable didn’t mean that anything else in Oberon’s realm would be.

Tawny padded on ahead of Sam when the meadow started to come into view. The wolf went to the edge of the treeline and studied the space—it was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, but the burned out remains of the tree trunk was there. The map Sam had been given suggested that Tawny and he should find a boulder near the trunk and head into the trees again in that direction, walking that way until they met a river.

Seeming to decide that the snow covered meadow was safe, Tawny trotted back to Sam and nudged his left hand before heading back towards the clearing. Together they broke through the treeline and slowly worked through the gathered snow to get to the burned out tree trunk. Each step filled Sam with dread, the sudden lack of cover provided by the trees working against his self-preservation instincts. Reaching the snowy blackened lump of bark, Sam trudged around the trunk until he saw a white lump rising out of the snow that could have been the boulder.

A murder of crows screeched out from the trees behind Tawny and Sam just as he decided it was the boulder. Ignoring the fear that curled in his stomach, Sam wasted no time in heading through the snow to get back into the trees, now parallel with the boulder. Tawny snorted and huffed once they were under cover again, throwing a look behind herself in the direction the crows had flown from.

The wolf’s hackles were raised and Sam almost felt like he would be doing the same if he had fur. Something had disturbed those crows and they didn’t know what.

“We should get going,” Sam said only loud enough for Tawny to hear. The wolf looked up at Sam and blinked once then started walking deeper into the trees, leading the way.

Hiking through the trees was far easier than moving through the meadow, the pines having stopped the worst of the previous night’s snow from reaching the forest floor. Tawny set a human-friendly pace and Sam hiked with her, listening to and watching his surroundings, hoping that nothing came of the crows.

They trudged through the forest for what felt like an hour, before they eventually reached the river. It was narrow, only a tiny bit bigger than a stream, much of its surface covered in a film of ice. Turning right, Tawny continued to lead as Sam followed behind the wolf. Staying silent, the two of them remained close, Sam glancing back now and then as Tawny focused on the front.

Despite trying to focus on his surroundings, Sam couldn’t stop himself from worrying about Dean. He hoped that Dean hadn’t been dragged into the fairy realm, that it was just his own ass that needed saving. A mix of chagrin and amusement settled over Sam as he rued the simple fact that he needed saving again—it wasn’t that long ago he was prisoner of the British Men of Letters. Or trapped in Asa Fox’s house with Max and Alicia. Sam felt a pang thinking about Max, but it was different to the one he felt for his brother.

Sighing, Sam continued on along the uneven ground, taking care not to trip over tree roots or dips hidden by the snow that had managed to settle on the forest floor. Tawny helped by picking out a route along the most even ground. Sam wondered if Tawny knew if Dean or anyone else had come through with him.

“Did you find anyone else when you found me?” Sam asked Tawny, stopping for a moment.

The wolf stopped and looked over at Sam, blinking twice. She snuffed at the air and then padded over to him, whining lightly and nuzzling at his free hand, smooth tongue slipping out and licking at him, almost like she knew that Sam was worried and needed comforting. It was nice and Sam felt some of his worry drain away, revitalizing him enough so that he could continue on the path that Rosie had put them on.

“Thanks,” Sam said. Tawny snorted and turned to lead the way again.

Following the river, the two of them continued to walk for much of the day, stopping here and there for Sam to snack on the provisions he’d been given. The day stayed cold, but it didn’t snow again. There came a point when Tawny decided for them that they had to stop for the night, which was fine as Sam had lost track of time, being surrounded by the pines and unable to track the sun properly.

They’d broken through the pines into what looked like a copse of oak trees, their branches bare, trunks gnarly and wide as they lined the side of the river. With such bare branches, more snow had settled onto the ground and made it harder to walk through, but Sam managed to feel his way using the fighting staff. Tawny sniffed around the copse until she identified one particularly massive oak that looked to have a hollow among its roots and nothing already living in it.

Tawny disappeared into the hollow, and Sam waited for the wolf’s judgment, hands tight on the staff. Silence settled over the copse and Sam focused his awareness on his surroundings, but nothing approached and Tawny finally popped back out of the hollow and snorted. She padded over to Sam and nuzzled at his left hand.

“Alright, home for the night.” Sam wasn’t sure if he would have risked building a fire, but as it was, there wasn’t any dry wood to be found. Pulling out a water skin, Sam went over to the river, tapped some of the ice away with his staff and then bent down to fill the skin afresh. Returning to the den, he found it was just big enough for him to crawl into. Taking off his sword and satchel, he pushed the belongings ahead of him as he crawled into the space.

“Do you need to hunt?” Sam asked Tawny as the wolf remained at the entrance to their new den.

The wolf blinked.

“Then go on. I’ll be fine for a bit,” Sam pointed out. Tawny snorted and trotted off.

Alone for the first time since he’d woken up in the den back on the ridge, Sam refused to be afraid. He’d been in worse situations than this—a million times worse. At the top of that list was Hell, and his time in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. Even his short stint in Purgatory had been more nerve wracking than walking through this corner of the fairy realm. Being on his knees before Dean, wondering when his brother was going to bring Death’s scythe down on him had been a more terrible experience than this.

And his time under Toni Bevell had certainly been far worse than this. Here he was warm and relatively pain free, body aching from non-life threatening injuries. Sat in that den, Sam was sure he would be fine, he had a plan, he knew there was a way out of his predicament, so long as Rosie could be believed. And with the gifts the fae had entrusted to him, Sam had little to doubt Rosie’s intentions—she had made no obligations of him.

All Sam could hear, as he sat in the den waiting for Tawny to return, was the beating of his heart and his own gentle breaths. He wasn’t hungry yet, so he sat crossed legged, cloak a little looser, and calmed his mind, letting all thoughts drift out. It had been some time since Sam had meditated, but there was no point in wasting his energy or falling asleep before the wolf’s return.

Sam felt his awareness of his own body drift slightly as his mind cleared and a sense of calm settled over him.

“At least his temperature’s back to normal.”

“That doesn’t explain why his hair was soaking earlier. He had no fever.”

“I dunno, maybe he did and—”

“The… moistness did not smell of sweat.”

“Have I ever told you that you can be gross? Because that’s gross, Cas. Seriously.”

“I am just reporting the facts, Dean. And it was not sweat… I smelt honey on Sam. 

A damp nose nudged at Sam’s cheek and his eyes flew open. Tawny’s snout was level with his face, but Sam wondered what on Earth he’d just heard.

“Am I dreaming?” Sam asked the wolf. Tawny nudged his face twice and Sam breathed in the scent of a fresh kill, the scent of coppery blood washing over his senses. The wolf snorted and nudged his face again, twice. But could he believe her?


	4. Chapter 4

Sam’s skin was pale and waxen. Despite his height, he seemed tiny in the hospital bed he’d been put in, and Dean tried not to fret at how lifeless his brother looked. He was breathing fine by himself, but Doctor Taylor was concerned and had put Sam on a drip and had him catheterized. But once the doctor had organized that, she became concerned that Sam wasn’t producing enough urine and that’s when Dean had called in Cas.

The not-quite-a-coma Sam was in was confusing the medical staff in West Park hospital, which was a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Kirwin. Dean and Sam had been fleeing a gold mine on foot as a fire raged inside it when Dean had lost track of Sam. He knew Sam had made it out of the mine after they’d toasted the wendigo, but he had lost track of Sam along the path from Kirwin back down to civilization.

After what had happened with the BMoL, Dean was having a hard time handling that he’d failed Sam yet again. He’d called Mary, and she was on her way, but for the time being he’d been working with Cas to try and understand what was happening with Sam. With every passing hour it seemed more likely that some kind of supernatural force was at work.

“Do you think he can hear us?” Dean asked Cas. He had Sam’s right hand between his own, hoping that maybe the contact would help bring Sam back to them.

“I’m unsure.” Cas looked at the younger Winchester, eyes narrowed, like he was looking at something that Dean couldn’t see.

“Dean?” Mary called from the room’s doorway.

There was an instant flood of relief. Dean couldn’t believe how much he’d needed his mom there until he stood up, went to her, and instantly pulled her into a hug.

“He’s not waking up,” Dean mumbled from somewhere in the vicinity of Mary’s left shoulder. Pulling away, Dean let go of his mom and waved at Sam. “Doc’s got no idea what’s wrong with him.”

Mary pulled off her jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. She went over to Sam’s bed and pulled his right hand between her hands. “You thinking some curse or monster or something?”

“Uh-huh, but Cas and I haven’t found any hex bags, and there wasn’t anything up in that forest but a wendigo, bears, wolves and some pissed off elk. Hell, he didn’t even have a chance to accidentally drink some African dream root.”

“African dream root?” asked Mary, eyebrow raised.

“You don’t wanna know,” Dean stated as he shook his head.

No one said anything else after that, the three just standing around Sam’s bed, minds mulling over what could be wrong.

“Perhaps,” Castiel started, after they’d been silent for some minutes, “I could try something?”

Frowning, Dean asked, “Try what?”

“Feeling his soul.”

Dean flinched at that, remembering what it was like when Cas had checked for Sam’s soul when he’d been soulless, and recalling Sam’s tortured description of what Lucifer had done while parading around in Cas’s body. _But if it offers us a chance to find out what’s wrong and help him…_

“What do you mean ‘feel his soul’, Cas?” Mary looked between Cas and Dean, clearly a little confused.

Stepping closer to Sam, Cas looked over the man and explained, “I would… put my hand in his chest and literally feel for his soul. If it’s there then at least it would suggest one avenue of research.”

“And if it’s not there?”

Dean swallowed and crossed his arms. “Then we’ll have another idea where to look. It’s the only thing we haven’t checked.”

“If you are both fine with this course of action, then I suggest one of you guards the door and the other holds Sam down.”

Mary went to the door and made sure it was closed. “Why does someone need to hold him down?”

“If he was awake he’d be screaming,” Cas said bluntly. “Dean?”

“Yeah, already working on it,” said Dean as he pulled his belt off and put it in Sam’s mouth. He listened to make sure Sam was still breathing and he was. Dean gripped Sam’s shoulders and pushed him down into the mattress. “Cas?”

The angel nodded and stepped close to Sam. Dean held Sam tight, ready for any reaction. At the corner of his vision, Dean saw a blue light and Sam shook in his hands as Cas felt for Sam’s soul. The seconds ticked by and Cas didn’t say anything until the light was gone and Sam had stopped shaking.

Dean let go of Sam and pulled his belt from his brother’s mouth. He turned to Cas. “Well?”

The angel squinted at Sam. “Part of his soul is there, but he’s not all here.”

If this had been different circumstances, Dean probably would have made some crack about Sam being an airhead nerd and that’s why he wasn’t all there, instead he worked on putting his belt back on. “Where’s the rest of his soul?”

“Another realm,” Cas stated.

“What?” Mary returned to Sam’s bedside.

Cas closed his eyes. “Sam’s soul isn’t completely here. It’s stretched between this realm and another.”

_Please don’t be Purgatory._ “He’s not in Purgatory is he?” asked Dean.

“No. What I sensed was unfamiliar. It felt like here, but not. But I’m sure it wasn’t Purgatory.”

“Is he safe?” Dean asked.

“I can’t tell.”

Frustration sinking in, Dean pulled his belt on, snapping it as he went. Enough was enough. “I think… I think I’m gonna make some calls.”

“Who you thinking?” Mary asked.

“Alicia and Max Banes. I ain’t bringing Rowena or Crowley in on this if I can help it. Be nice to work with someone who doesn’t want us dead. Y’know, for a change of pace.” Dean pulled his cell out, hoping the witch twins would be able to help.

***

Waking up pressed against the wolf, Sam yawned and raised his head a little over Tawny. It was still the middle of the night, though the way that a slight breeze was working its way in told Sam that it hadn’t snowed again—the den entrance was unblocked. He thought back to the startled crows earlier. _Maybe another animal startled them_ , Sam thought, but he remembered how Tawny had reacted and he was unsure of that answer. _But if something wanted to kill us, surely it would have done it by now?_ Sam felt the doubt and fear clawing at his thoughts and tried to ignore them.

Even with the chill air circulating, Sam was warmer than he had been the previous night. Between the cloak and Tawny he was warm enough, even able to feel his toes in the boots that Rosie had given to him. Tawny whimpered in her sleep and bunched up closer to Sam, who reached out a gloved hand and gently stroked the wolf’s side. Slowly she calmed and settled back into whatever dreams she had been having.

Sam tried to settle back down to sleep too. He listened to Tawny’s breaths, level and calm, and tried to think of nothing else. Eventually, Sam began to drift off to sleep.

_SNAP_.

Tawny was alert and tense beside Sam, hackles raised, but otherwise silent as booted footsteps crunched through the snow outside their den. Lantern light shone on the snow outside, but Sam could see no foot or paw prints— _Tawny must have brushed them away?_ A pair of boots, similar to his own, came into view and he heard someone, a man, speak in the tongue that Rosie had originally greeted him with.

The owner of the voice stepped away from the den, but continued to talk and then another man joined in. Voices raised and curt, Sam concluded they were having an argument, but he just couldn’t understand. Tawny stayed right beside Sam, but he didn’t doubt that she would have sprung out of their den within a blink of an eye if she thought she needed to.

It took some minutes, but the voices started to shift from nearby, as the conversation continued, though less angrily than before. Sam whispered to Tawny, “Should we stay here?”

A cold nose nudged Sam’s cheek once and Tawny settled back down, body pressed even closer to Sam than it had been before, as if she could shield him. Caution did seem the more sensible option, and so Sam settled down again, hunter instincts still as strong as ever.

“Do you want me to keep watch?” Sam asked the wolf. Her cold nose pressed into him twice and so Sam curled around the wolf, sleep quickly finding him again.

***

Surprise was Max’s first reaction when he saw who was calling him—yes he’d exchanged numbers with Dean after what had happened at his father’s house, but he never expected _the_ Dean Winchester to call him. But as his cell continued to vibrate in his hand, Dean’s name on the caller display, Max decided that it couldn’t be a mistake, that Dean _was_ calling him, so he slid the call answer button and raised the cell to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Max, it’s Dean Winchester, remember, from Asa’s wake?”

Max held back a snicker and then said in his smooth voice, “Dean, no offence, but there’s only one Dean Winchester who's going to be calling me first thing in the morning. What up?”

Dean let out a long breath and Max could hear the older Winchester scrubbing at his jaw with his hand. “It’s Sam… Most of his soul’s gone wandering and I need a… well, a good witch to come see if we can find out where Sam’s got to.”

That got a raised eyebrow from Max. He rubbed at the back of his neck, digging a little under the neck of his shirt to scratch—more to stop himself from worrying about Sam than anything else. _Dammit Max, you only met him once_. “Sam’s not awake?”

“No. Cas says part of his soul is still in him, but that the rest of it is in another realm of existence,” Dean explained. _Who’s Cas?_ Max wondered.

Finding the lost was standard practice in white magic, and maybe Max had bragged a little after Dean had helped rescue all of them back at Asa’s wake. “Well, I’ve never had to find a soul before, but I’m sure I can think of some way to find him. Where are you now?”

“West Park Hospital in Cody, Wyoming... Sam’s in a coma,” Dean said, voice breaking a little as he mentioned the coma.

It was hard for Max to imagine Sam lying in a hospital bed, unconscious and unable to help himself. He’d only met the man once, but he was larger than life. “Alicia and I are in Williston, but we can come straight away. See you in about 6 and a half hours.”

“You can come?” Dean asked as if there was even a possibility of Max saying no. Dean sounded vulnerable and Max realized that Sam was very important to Dean, more so than the stories of these two had ever really let on.

“Of course. I’ll get Alicia and we’ll be on our way. Help is coming.”

“Thanks, dude. Lemme know if you need any more directions.”

“Will do.”

Dean hung up.

***

Snow was on the air again when Sam and Tawny woke, the sky above gray and heavy with icy potential. For breakfast, Tawny caught herself a rabbit and feasted on that, while Sam tried to eat hard ginger spiced biscuits. He ended up mashing them with some water in a small bowl Rosie had given him, and then drinking the sweet, thick mixture down.

The biscuit wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever eaten, in fact he was pretty sure that while he’d detoxed from demon blood his own mouth had been the worst thing he’d ever tasted. The impossibly hard biscuit was like candy in comparison—really hard candy.

Once the two of them were ready, they were about to follow the route that Rosie had given them, but then they saw unfamiliar footprints in the snow. Two sets.

“The men from during the night,” said Sam, studying the indentations.

Tawny nudged his hand once and walked ahead a little; she stopped and pointed her snout on a slightly different path to the one that Rosie had described.

“You sure?”

The wolf blinked once. He’d trusted Tawny so far, Sam saw no real issue with following her lead now. Heading over to the wolf, Sam carefully followed her, keeping an eye on his surroundings once more. Even though there had been no fresh snowfall during the night, the snow still did a good job of muffling the noises the two of them made.

Each step they took brought them closer to Oberon’s court and left Sam hoping that the fae he found there were as agreeable as Rosie. He didn’t want to be in that realm as much as they probably didn’t want him there. It seemed a win-win for all if they helped him go home. Sam looked at Tawny’s back as she walked and he sighed.

Two days and Sam already felt more attached to Tawny than he had to Riot in another lifetime. 

“I’m not sure if I said this already,” Sam began, just loud enough for Tawny to hear him, “but thanks for saving me.”

Tawny stopped and blinked at him once and then started walking again. Apparently that had meant “you’re welcome”, although Sam couldn’t be sure. Following after Tawny he wondered what it would be like to go home and not see this wolf again. A huge part of him knew that he couldn’t just own a wolf, take Tawny back with him and treat her like a dog. But then Sam couldn’t stop thinking about the game trails he’d seen on his morning runs near the Bunker, and the generously sized woods nearby.

_If someone saw her that close to town, they’d be liable to shoot at her_ , Sam concluded bitterly. _Wait, am I thinking about taking a wolf home with me… like some kind of dog?_ Sam studied the wolf as she spent a moment sniffing at a fallen log. _Welp, seems I am._

Lost in his thoughts, Sam missed the wolf suddenly stopping in the snow, hackles raised. Sam only realized something was wrong when a ball of light flittered into their midst and exploded. Blind and deafened, limbs suddenly feeling like jelly, Sam fell to the snow covered forest floor and stared around wildly, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.


	5. Chapter 5

Hearing that Sam was in a coma was nothing like actually seeing him lying there, still and pale, skin taut over cheeks that had been fuller only weeks ago. From what Dean told Max, Sam had only been in that state a few days, but it looked far longer and it reinforced the urgent need to bring Sam’s soul back.

One side of the bed hosted Dean with Mary and a man that Max didn’t recognize. There was something odd about this stranger that Max couldn’t quite put his finger on as Alicia finished closing the door to the room.

“Dean, Mary, great to see you again. Though maybe sometime we can meet up for coffee.” Max turned to the stranger. “And you are?”

The stranger narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. He was about to speak when Dean butted in with, “This is Cas, uh Castiel.”

“He’s not human,” Alicia pointed out.

“I’m not. I am an angel.”

 _Oh, I forgot these guys ran with an angel._ “Nice to finally meet you... Cas.” Max stepped up to Sam’s bedside, opposite his family.

“I hope you can do more than I was able to.” Cas shifted beside Dean and Mary, a hint of regret in the set of his shoulders.

“You… got any ideas on where to start?” asked Dean. The older hunter gave Max a hopeful look.

Just as Max was about to make a suggestion, the scent of honeysuckle flooded his senses. He loudly sniffed the air and then leaned in to sniff Sam. The scent was coming from him.

“What’s that smell?” asked Dean.

“Honeysuckle,” Alicia replied. Max could feel his sister’s eyes staring at the back of his skull as he sniffed at Sam again. His head felt a little light, although that  may have had more to do with being that close to Sam rather than the heady scent of honeysuckle that suddenly bathed him.

Straightening up, Max quietly swallowed, mind rushing through what he knew about honeysuckle. First though, he needed to know where Sam’s soul had gotten to. “Hey, do you mind if I sit up with Sam?”

Dean and Mary both raised an eyebrow and then Dean shrugged. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

“Kinda the plan,” Max muttered under his breath. “Alicia, would you hold me?” Max asked more loudly.

“Of course.”

“What are you doing?” Mary looked worried.

Max sat down on the left edge of the bed and Alicia grasped Max’s right hand. “Alicia is going to act as a tether for my soul, so that I don’t get lost while I look for Sam.”

“And how exactly are you going to look for Sam?” Dean queried nervously.

“Astral projection,” Max announced, pulling a pendant out from behind his black top. The pendant was a small hunk of lapis lazuli. Before he’d learned to do this for himself, Max’s mother would help him shove himself out of his own body. It had taken a lot of training, but he had eventually developed the strength of will to do it for himself.

“Ready?” Alicia squeezed Max’s hand.

Nodding, Max reached towards Sam’s left hand. “If it looks like something’s wrong—”

“I’ll pull you back. Don’t worry.”

There wasn’t any use for further words. Max threaded his fingers with Sam’s and closed his eyes. Clearing his mind of all thoughts, emptying himself of all sensation, Max pushed out of himself. He saw the room as it had been mere moments before, but there was now a strand of blue light extending from Sam’s chest. The strand twisted and contorted towards the ceiling.

Max reached out to the glowing blue light and touched it.

***

Slowly opening his eyes, Sam ignored the way his body protested at his position, sprawled in on the stone floor. Eyes adjusting to the gloom, Sam shivered and pulled himself into a sitting position. Shifting about he felt a tingle of frustration: he no longer had the warm cloak that Rosie had gifted to him.

Neck cracking as he looked around, Sam studied his cell. It was so narrow and small that if he tried to stretch out on the floor, he’d easily bump into the cell’s stony walls or the bars of the cell door. He doubted he’d have much hope standing either. Somewhere beyond the cell door’s iron bars was the faint glimmer of a candle, but it was so far away that its light was a mere suggestion on the stone walls outside Sam’s cell.

Scrabbling over to the lock on the the cell door, heavy and crude, he saw that it was made of iron. _So the fairies here don’t mind causing their prisoners immense discomfort then,_ Sam thought as he examined the lock. He wondered what poor creatures had been made to mine the ore and smelt it in the first place—of course there was a chance that it wasn’t any fae, and that perhaps it wasn’t fae that had captured him. He couldn’t be sure either way—he heard no other signs of life beyond himself.

Sam wanted to break out of the cell, find Tawny and continue on his way to Oberon. But first he needed to escape. If the cell had been designed with fairies in mind, then they probably wouldn’t have expected their prisoners to manipulate the lock without becoming extremely ill and thus incapable of escaping. Being a human, Sam didn’t have that problem. Eyes now fully adjusted to the low light of the cell, Sam could see a few bones that looked small enough to fit the lock. Gingerly he picked up two bones that looked like they had once been part of a rib and hoped it was someone’s dinner rather than a rat. Hoped that if it was a rat that it hadn’t been someone’s dinner.

Kneeling behind the lock, Sam reached through the bars and twisted his hands around so that he could begin to work on the lock. Ears listening to not just the pins and tumblers inside the lock, but also for any danger that might be approaching, it took Sam a little longer than usual to pick the lock, but he got there. A satisfying click sounded and the cell door swung open a few inches. Putting the bones up his sleeve, Sam ignored how cold he felt as he crept out of his cell and into the small corridor outside.

A candle flickered in the distance, light dancing here and there. Alongside one wall there were five other cells, each set at lengthy intervals, so that occupants wouldn’t be able to reach around the doors and walls to each-other. There was no guard. Sam silently stepped past the cells, checking each one for Tawny. But the wolf was not in any of the cells and Sam began to worry.

Reaching the candle, Sam found a large wooden chest on the floor, his staff perched behind it. He picked the chest open and found his cloak and other valuables. Pulling everything back on, Sam’s body slowly began to warm up, now able to better trap heat to itself. Keeping his staff ready to strike, Sam continued to find his way out of his prison.

Past the chest and candle was a spiral stone staircase raising upwards. If anyone were to head down it there and then, Sam would be at a disadvantage, though the staircase confirmed that Sam was probably in the structure’s lowest level—inside a dungeon.

Desperately wanting to find Tawny and leave, Sam wondered if the wolf had managed to avoid whoever had captured him. But what he hoped was that the wolf wasn’t dead. Chasing away such thoughts, Sam focused on staying as silent as possible as he wound round and round the staircase, heading upwards. He reached a trapdoor set above his head and pushed at it.

The trapdoor eased open swinging upwards and Sam used one hand to steady it so that it didn’t slam open and draw attention. Leaving it open a fraction, he stared through the gap at a hallway that confirmed that Sam was in some kind of castle. The feet and legs of a guard stood some ten feet away, back to the trapdoor. Easing the trapdoor open further, Sam slipped out the gap and rose to his full height. He was taller than the guard by about a foot. The guard wore armor made of leather and had no helmet. His ears were fae like,and while there was a sword at his side, it looked to be made of silver.

Sam had to get past the guard in order to continue. It wasn’t a particularly wide hallway, so Sam had no choice but to step up behind the guard and whack him with his staff. Catching the guard as he fell, Sam checked he was still breathing before pulling him over to the side of the hallway where his body was concealed by a long side drawer.

Curling his fists around his staff, Sam headed onwards and hoped that he could find Tawny and be on his way to Oberon.

***

When Max came to, he wasn’t at Sam’s side as he had expected, but he could still see the strand of blue light stretching off into the distance—one end to the side of a ridge where Sam clearly wasn’t and the rest through pines. Max was in a forested area and there was a house in front of him that looked like it would be perfect on the front of a Christmas card with its whole red and green color scheme. The blood splatters and broken door, however meant that it wasn’t quite picture perfect.

Hoping that the blood wasn’t Sam’s, Max let curiosity get the better of him as he ignored the strand and went towards the house instead. He could sense life inside it, though it was fragile and could crumble at any moment. Managing to ignore the cold against his astral form, Max stepped into the ruined home and looked around.

Tables were upturned, pots smashed, herbs, food and clothes strewn everywhere. Behind what had once been a bed was the prone form of a woman, blonde hair hacked and torn, sticky with blood. Max knelt beside her and placed an incorporeal hand on her cheek.

“Hey, hey now… you with me?”

The woman stirred, eyes fluttering open as she looked up at Max. “You’re…” the woman coughed and wheezed, blood bubbling to her lips. “Not from around here.”

“Who did this?” Max asked, knowing all too well that there was nothing he could do for the woman, not with the amount of blood on the floor indicating how much she had already bled out.

“Ingund... and his guards,” the woman wheezed. “They… were… looking for another… like you… I refused to tell them and…” the woman coughed. “He called himself Stephen… not that it was his real name… smart man.”

The light was fading from the woman’s eyes. “Was this man really tall?” asked Max.

“Yes… I told him to… go to King Oberon’s court… that maybe… he would have… the means to… get him home,” the woman explained and then let out her last breath.

Getting to his feet, Max looked around the house. He knew what the name Oberon meant—he was in the land of the fairies and he needed to get Sam back out. Fast. While Oberon wasn’t known for the slaughter of mortals, Max knew this Ingund was bad news. The evidence was all around him.

***

Jovial music played as Sam stepped towards what would normally be a main feasting hall, if he knew his medieval castle architecture, which he did. Instead of a roofed hall, the space was vast and open to the skies, walled with tiny pines and covered in snow. Orbs of lights glittered from the tiny trees and a crowd of people in fine furs and colourful attire filled the space, dancing and drinking. The music came from a group of minstrels gathered together with flutes, simple drums and a lute. The people dressed a lot like Rosie, only more luxuriously.

A dais rose above the people, with a man sat upon the throne placed there. His long hair and beard were silver, like the crown upon his head. He watched the proceedings below much like a man who would love to join, but couldn’t because of his station. Eyes travelling the space, he spotted Sam with a quickness the hunter had not been expecting.

Ready to bolt there and then, Sam was shocked when a voice said in his head, _A visitor? Come here._

The last words compelled Sam to take a step forwards, urging his muscles to take action that he did not wish to take. Sam tried to fight it.

 _Come here_ , echoed in his mind again and Sam let himself be drawn forward rather than tear his own muscles apart. The dancers shifted around him as if the whole thing had been choreographed from the start. Sam walked to the man on on the dais, who Sam had a growing suspicion was King Oberon.

Staff solid in his hand, Sam stepped up the daits’s steps and stood before the man who had called him.

“You’re a long way from home, mortal,” the man mused, stroking at his long beard. “Do you have a name?”

“Stephen,” Sam replied without hesitation.

A grin cracked over the fae’s face. “Wise as well. I’m King Oberon, but that’s not my entire name, as you may have surmised. What brings you to my court?”

And that’s when Sam understood that Oberon was likely not responsible for his capture. The fae king had acted not at all like he was responsible for Sam’s presence, and Oberon would be able to tell if Sam was outright lying, he could sense that level of power about the fae.

“Not to alarm you, King Oberon, but only a short while ago I awoke in your dungeons. I was taken not far from here, having been on my way to see you.”

The fae king’s eyes darkened with Sam’s revelation and Oberon drew himself up stiffly on his throne. “You were taken while travelling to see me?”

Sam nodded. “Yes.”

Oberon didn’t make a single accusation against Sam, and instead scanned the revellers below the dais. “Ingund?” Oberon called in a voice that demanded it be obeyed.

“I was also with a wolf, sir king,” Sam added.

That made Oberon quirk an eyebrow, but then he schooled his face to anger as someone else, Ingund no doubt, approached the dais from behind Sam. He was hit by the scent of honeysuckle as he stood there silently. Instinct made Sam shift his stance and grip his staff just that bit more, ready to fight without a moment’s notice.

“Yes, King Oberon?” said a male fae as he came to stop beside Sam. Catching a look at the fae in his peripheral, Sam saw a soldier’s stance and a flash of deep red hair.

“I appear to have an unexpected guest,” Oberon pointed out, tilting his head towards Sam but keeping his eyes on Ingund. “He claims he was in the dungeon until but a mere half hour ago, which is in my experience no way to treat a guest.”

Ingund stiffened beside Sam and sucked in a deep breath. “He was acting suspiciously near the castle.”

Sam frowned and Oberon flashed Sam a look that let him know the king didn’t believe Ingund’s explanation. “Why are you lying to me, Ingund? Why did you imprison this mortal in my dungeon? And where is the wolf he he was traveling with?”

The music stopped. Someone shouted from behind and Sam turned to see guards, much like the one he had knocked out, swarm into the gathering. He snapped his attention back to Ingund and Oberon, swallowed hard and caught the beginnings of a spell on Ingund’s lips. 

Without thinking, Sam shoved at Ingund, sending the fae sprawling to the foot of the dais as the commotion continued around them.

Sam was in the middle of a coup. “We need to leave here, now!” Sam glanced to Oberon and the king nodded. The fae grasped Sam’s free hand and he felt light headed as he was transported out of the court in an eruption of starlight.


	6. Chapter 6

Stalking through the forest, following the blue strand of light, Max puzzled over the intricacies of Sam being in the fae world. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Sam had done more than just project into the realm. The smell of honeysuckle that had washed over Sam back in the hospital suggested there was more going on.

Following the trail of Sam’s soul, Max was able to traverse the snowy environment faster than if he had been physically there. Gripping the strand, he was able to use it as a pull line to hover a few feet above the ground and fly along it. Just as he thought he was getting close to Sam, Max saw a huge castle appearing between the trees he’d spent hours flying through. And then the soul line, as Max was coming to think of it, jerked in his hand and suddenly twisted away from the castle at a ninety degree angle towards his left.

“What the hell?” Max muttered, but he kept a hold of the line and continued.

In the distance, unseen by Max, a tawny colored wolf chased after him.

***

“I could send you home now,” Oberon offered as he and Sam walked deeper into the cave that the king had transported them to.

Sam shook his head. “You need help.”

Oberon laughed and slapped Sam’s back. “Stephen, I am the King of the Fairies, I can handle one upstart prince.”

“Seems wrong for me to get a free ride when you would be left by yourself to deal with this mess… plus I want to find Tawny again. Make sure she’s okay.”

“This wolf you call Tawny… she understands you?” Oberon queried as he pulled down a lantern from a naturally formed shelf in the cave’s wall. Oberon muttered something into the lantern and its glass began to glow with a bright yet soothing light.

“Yeah. Seems to.” Sam followed after Oberon. “She told me she wasn’t cursed or a skinwalker.”

“Hmmm, did she now?” Oberon said, amusement in his voice. “Well if she’s not told you what she is then I will leave that to your friend to tell you the truth.”

“The truth?” Sam wondered out loud.

“Quite. Here,” Oberon announced, standing beside a stretch of glistening stone that looked no different to many of the ice covered walls. “This should have what we need to knock Ingund down a peg or two. Thank you for stopping that fool from cursing me.” Oberon touched the wall and an oval of stone shifted down, revealing a passageway leading down deeper into the cave.

“Uh… you’re welcome. Why is he trying to curse you and well…” Sam started as he followed Oberon.

“Take my kingdom from me? I said no to him over one small matter, and like the petulant child he is, he did not enjoy me telling him no.”

“Child?” Sam carefully stepped over some glistening green slime that was moving across his path.

Oberon chuckled. “He’s but five hundred summers old. And most improbably, will never grow up. He gets that from his mother, and not from me.”

Sam wasn’t about to ask how old Oberon was if Ingund was five hundred summers. “What did Ingund ask?”

Stopping in the center of the passageway, Oberon looked over his shoulder at Sam. The light from the lantern pulled at the fae’s lines and wrinkles, making him look older than he seemed. “He asked that we take the land of you mortals. He would have needed my magic to build a bridge big enough for his invasion of course, that is why he dare not attempt such a thing without me.”

“Thank you for telling him no, I guess… but if you said no and refused to use your magic to help him, why did he come for you back at the court?”

“Because he had you.” Oberon turned and continued.

“Sorry, me?” Sam called after the fae as the passageway ended and stepped into a huge cavern inside the cave. There was ice along the dark stone here and there, stretching up towards a ceiling impossible to see. In other places, the stone glittered under the lantern light, the wall splashed with an assortment of geodudes that glittered like stars in the sky.

The king set the lantern down and waved his hands a little, chanting under his breath and the light from the lantern flew out and buzzed around the cavern, lighting it as it went. Now able to see more clearly, Sam gasped as he took in a space filled with treasures from many realms. Not only were there piles of gold and gems, but there were works of art and books and scrolls.

“You’re not like most mortals that come here,” Oberon explained. “I can smell it on you. Your world. You’re a fissure between the realms, one that only needs to be teased open.”

Brain catching up with what Oberon was saying, Sam gulped. “But how?”

Oberon gave an unkingly shrug. “Had you lost consciousness while coming into my kingdom?”

Lifting a hand up to the back of his head, Sam touched the bump on the back of his head that he had almost forgotten. “I may have.”

“Then you most certainly did. Most of your soul came through as well… it’s all diabolically easy to use for one’s own gain. Are you sure I can’t send you back? Without you, Ingund has nothing.”

“Can you really take him on by yourself?” Sam stepped closer to the king, doing nothing to hide the concern on his face. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Oberon alone to be killed and his son take his place.

“I’ll succeed, but likely die.”

“Then no. I want to help.”

“Stubborn, much like Ingund. Though different to him your cause is noble. And it’s not as if I can send you back against your will.”

“Oh.” Sam rubbed gently at the bump on his head and winced.

“Oh indeed.”

***

Dean couldn’t help the pacing he was doing around Sam’s room. Max had been unresponsive for over an hour, head slumped forwards as Alicia maintained her watch. There was nothing for him to do, but Dean dared not leave Sam’s side as he waited for Max to finish doing his thing.

The door to the room opened and a nurse stepped in, looking between the crowd gathered there. “There’s a three visitor limit and you’re not meant to be sat on the bed. Some of you have to leave now,” the nurse ordered, crossing her arms over her chest.

Without even being asked to, Castiel walked over to the nurse and pressed two fingers to her forehead. “This room has the correct number of visitors. You should leave.” He took his fingers away.

“This room has the correct number of visitors,” parroted the nurse. “I will leave you now.” The nurse turned and walked back out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Dean asked Alicia.

“It takes a long as it takes. We haven’t exactly gone soul hunting before.” Alicia glared at Dean while his mom gave him a pointed look.

“Fine…”

***

The wolf had been following Max for miles, never seeming to tire or slow. This meant it was no ordinary wolf, but as it couldn’t hurt Max he paid it little attention as he followed the blue strand of light. Mountains that had been far away in the distance many miles ago were quickly becoming far larger,and as they loomed above Max he saw the thread of Sam’s soul pass straight through the rock of the mountain.

Steeling himself, Max took a non-existent breath and then passed through the rock.

***

Oberon had disappeared into his trove of treasures some time ago. Every now and then, Sam would hear the king exclaim loudly in the language Rosie had used, but the king’s words were undoubtedly curses if the tone and cadence were anything to go by. Sat on a rock, as the king asked Sam not to touch anything, because much of it wasn’t safe, Sam patiently waited for Oberon to return.

It was while he was waiting for Oberon to reappear, unsure of what the king was planning, that he felt a strange tug around his midriff. He turned and came face-to-face with the pale, translucent form of Max Banes. Doing a double take, Sam fell off the rock and hit his head, right on his existing bump.

“FUCK!” Sam swore, scrambling to his feet.

Max winced. “Sorry, Sam. Didn’t mean to startle you,” Max apologized in an ethereal voice.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam dusted himself off and squinted at Max, ignoring the light flutter in his stomach. “How are you here? Are you astrally projecting?”

“Actually I am and I’m here to get you home.”

“How’d you find me?” Sam asked, rubbing at the sore spot on his head again.

“I followed your soul.”

That stopped Sam’s next question and he studied Max, breath catching in his chest. “So you just came straight after me?”

“I did stop by a cottage while following your trail. Some poor fae woman who was dying told me where you had been heading—”

“Wait, some poor fae woman?” Sam already knew who she was, knew it was Rosie.

Max nodded and gave Sam an apologetic look. “There was nothing I could do. Someone called Ingund and his guards had worked her over. Did you know her?”

Nodding, Sam sat down on his rock again. “You could say that.”

“Who’s this?!” Oberon bellowed, suddenly emerged from his labyrinth of treasure.

_Shit! Think of a name, Sam, think of a name…_ “A friend of mine, from my realm,” Sam explained. “This is Matthew.”

The king cocked an eyebrow. “Is he now. I have what I need. As you are so determined not to allow me to pass on over, I will require that you aid me in using this.” Oberon held out a golden staff with a hunk of orange amber set into the top.

“What’ll it do?”

“Make Ingund mortal. For a time. Long enough to live and die in your world and come back with a more princely attitude.” Oberon smiled.

“Sam…” Max started.

“What do you need from me?” Sam asked, eyeing Oberon. Sam’s skin tingled with anger over the news of Rosie’s death. Leaving Ingund alive was too good a punishment, but at least the prince wouldn’t be getting what he wanted.

The king smiled more, revealing teeth that were slightly more pointed than a human’s. “A touch of your humanity.”

***

Unfortunately, the three of them couldn’t just zap their way back into Oberon’s castle or even that close to it. The fae was certain that Ingund would have put up wards to stop him from doing just that. So they would have to approach on foot.

Sam found it a little eerie to have Max floating beside him, but he tried to not let it bother him. When they finally reached the outside world and the fresh air of the forest that covered much of the land around Oberon’s castle, Sam had to take a moment to let his eyes readjust to the light. Blinking hard, he heard the familiar patter of paws over snow and then—

“TAWNY!” Sam gasped dropping to his knees as the she-wolf bounded over to him. Tawny bumped up against Sam and he threw his arms around her.

“Dude, you’re hugging a wolf,” Max pointed out.

“Not just any wolf, right girl?” Sam asked, heart elated that the wolf was okay. She nudged his cheek once and whined. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

Beside them, Oberon bent down and studied Sam’s traveling companion. “A wolf you say?”

Tawny licked Sam’s cheek and he laughed. “Yeah.”

“Looks like I’ll be sending four back to the mortal realm,” Oberon mused out loud. “Come, I have a son to… punish.”

With that Oberon pushed away from the foot of the mountain and strode into the treeline. Sam, Max and Tawny followed with Sam actually finding it a little hard to keep up with the ancient fae as he explained what Ingund was planning.

Stalking through the forest, the group would meet some animal or bird and the king would kneel before them and talk in tongues that Sam didn’t understand. It wasn’t like the language Rosie had used, but the animals seemed to know what King Oberon was telling them.

“What did you just tell those squirrels?” Sam finally blurted out as curiosity got the better of him.

“They are sending a message to my people. That I have not abandoned them and that justice will be swift.” Oberon said without looking back at them and continuing onwards through the forest.

All in all they walked for an hour until the castle started coming into view. From the outside the structure was impressive as it jutted out towards the side of a large river. The gray stone towered high and secure above them.

“Why does Ingund want to invade our realm?” Max asked as they stopped to observe the castle.

Checking the staff he had taken from his haul, Oberon frowned and straightened his shoulders. “He doesn’t understand that we gave up our claim to your realm.” Sucking in a breath, Oberon continued his march to the castle.

“Claim?” Max asked Sam.

“Well, I know the old gods kind of gave up their right to be in their realm, maybe the fae did too?”

Tawny snuffed loudly and headbutted Sam’s thigh twice. Giving the wolf a puzzled look, Sam watched on as she marched on ahead of them to walk beside Oberon. It had to be said: the four of them looked odd as they moved closer to the castle. No raiding party had probably ever had the King of the Fairies, a human, a wolf and an astrally projecting human.

Coming through the last of the trees, Sam observed Oberon chanting the words of a spell and a purplish aura, a shield, rose up around the four of them. They continued on to the castle’s drawbridge and finally stopped. The bridge was raised, but there were guards on watch atop the castle’s ramparts.

“I would talk with my son!” Oberon bellowed without warning. Compelled much like Sam had been earlier that day, the guards hurried away.

Minutes passed. “Stand with me, Stephen,” Oberon ordered Sam. Walking up beside the king, Max at his back, Sam stood beside Oberon and waited with him. Tawny sat at Sam’s side.

Without warning, the drawbridge began to be lowered. Oberon waited patiently until it had finished and Ingund was walking out towards them. The prince’s red hair flew behind him and made it look like his head was on fire.

“Father, I see you’ve returned to give the human to me,” Ingund proclaimed, arrogance coating everything he said or did.

Sam heard Oberon chuckling low in his throat. “Certainly I have returned to give _something_ to you.”

_Stephen, touch the staff_ , Oberon ordered and Sam did as he was told.

“So you still wish to conquer the mortal realm, dear Ingund?” Oberon asked. The golden staff was warm under Sam’s touch.

“It seems only right!” bellowed the prince, taking a step closer.

“It’s not right to break the oaths I made,” Oberon pointed out. “We are not oath breakers.”

Instead of replying, Ingund hissed a word and a deep red flash of light streaked towards the party. Sam went to push Oberon out of the way, but Max shouted something and the flash of light turned into a rain of jonquil flowers. The flowers floated down to the ground and Ingund glared at Oberon and Max.

The prince roared and started to rush towards them. Oberon bellowed three words that Sam didn’t recognize and the staff lit up, firing a golden light at Ingund. Bathed in the light, Ingund staggered and fell to his knees and then the light was gone. 

Ingund shakily rose to his feet and waved his hand towards his father, but nothing happened.

A loud booming laugh worked its way out of Oberon. “Now, son of mine, it is time to talk of your penance.”


	7. Chapter 7

One moment Sam had been standing on the edge of a forest in the Kingdom of Oberon. The next he was gasping awake in a hospital bed, surrounded by Dean, Castiel, his mom, Alicia and Max, and a man he didn’t know. There was a familiarity to the way his eyes watched Sam and the browny-golden color of his hair.

“Tawny?” Sam rasped, looking at the stranger. As if no one else had noticed the man, all heads turned towards him. The man was dressed in a simple charcoal gray suit and a white shirt with black tie.

Sam blinked and then Dean had the guy pinned up against a wall and Castiel had his angel blade drawn, its tip pointed at the man’s throat.

“Hey… stop…” Sam rasped, throat dry and rough.

The man sighed. “Please, I mean none of you any harm. And it’s Loki… here, Sam. Not Tawny.”

Everyone’s eyes went wide at that, Castiel and Dean backed off, but stayed close. Eyes trained on the being that called himself Loki.

“Well, thank you so much for uh, convincing Oberon to give me a lift back here. Nice to be home after Gabriel shoved me in there.” Loki cracked his neck and shook out his arms, while Castiel looked at him with deep suspicion.

Voice cracking completely, Sam gave up and then Mary held a cup of water with a straw to Sam’s mouth. He sipped the cold liquid and cleared his throat, everyone seemingly waiting for him to speak. “Why a female wolf?”

Loki grinned. “Harder for the fae to realize who they had trapped in their midst.”

“You used me,” Sam almost growled.

“I saved you. And now, farewell. Maybe we’ll see each other again, Sam.” And the old god was gone.

There was a moment of silence and then Dean was pulling Sam into a hug, breathing shuddering breaths, holding back tears Sam knew he wanted to shed, but didn’t feel comfortable doing in front of others. Over Dean’s shoulder, Sam saw Max watching him, a warm smile playing on the other man’s lips.

“Didn’t really need me after all,” Max thought out loud as he stretched his limbs. His sister was rubbing his back.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Sam returned and smiled at Max.

“I’ll get a doctor,” Castiel announced. “You can continue this discussion once Sam has been checked over.”

The angel bustled out of the room and Max smirked at Sam. “Angel’s orders, huh?”

***

Finally let out of the hospital two days after coming out of his coma, Sam still couldn’t quite believe all that had happened to him. Almost used in a coup so that the fae could invade the mortal realm; rescued by a god pretending to be a wolf—it was only meant to have been a wendigo hunt.

Sat back in the Impala and on the way back to Lebanon, Kansas and the Bunker, Sam kept glancing over at Max who asked to ride with them after Dean invited everyone back there. It was an eleven hour drive from Cody to Lebanon. Alicia and Mary were in Alicia’s car, talking over stuff to do with Alicia’s father as far as Sam had heard before they’d split.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam started, “we get that wendigo?”

“Yeah, we took care of that. You don’t remember?” Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder. Castiel turned to look back at Sam.

“Nope.”

“You didn’t miss much, trust me.” Dean turned his attention back to the road.

“If you are still bothered by this,” said Cas, a thoughtful look on his face, “then I could help you get those memories back?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, Cas.”

The seraph nodded and turned away, leaving just Max staring at Sam. Catching the younger man’s look out of the corner of his eye, Sam couldn’t help the blush those rose to his cheeks. Whatever he had felt back at Asa’s funeral, in what seemed another lifetime, had obviously been mutual.

But Sam wasn’t quite sure how to nudge things that bit further along. Instead he gave Max a small grin and turned to face the road. It was obvious Max had chosen to ride in the Impala, because of Sam, but he was just too wired to figure out the next step.

Staring out the window and watching the countryside roll by, Sam slowly pieced together every shred of confidence he could muster so that when he had the chance, he could ask and be sure. He wanted to be sure.

“Say… where do you think Oberon stashed Ingund?” Sam asked Max.

“Hopefully some dank bar in the midwest where nothing interesting ever happens.”

“He better not be within a hundred miles of Lebanon,” Sam groused, folding his arms over his chest. Thinking about Ingund made Sam angry about what happened to Rosie. Sam had demanded the fae be laid to rest before they had left Oberon’s kingdom. The King had acquiesced, acknowledging he was responsible for some of his son’s actions.

Max shook his head and put his right hand on the back seat, stretched a little towards Sam. Noticing Max’s hand, Sam slowly edged his left hand towards Max, until their fingers were touching. Sam waited, expecting Max to withdraw, but he didn’t and Sam felt butterflies in his stomach.

***

Peanut shells littered the wooden floorboards, crunching underfoot no matter where Ingund stood. He would have gotten the broom out and swept, but the lunchtime rush was on and he was the only one there serving. Cook was in the kitchen and he was busy too, with the manager nowhere to be seen.

Ingund wasn’t Ingund though, he was Thomas Williams, a college dropout who lusted after a girl who was a regular on Tuesdays, but he’d never caught her name. Sometimes Thomas had memories of a strange place with huge forests and frigid mountains; magic and an old man with a long silver beard who sung to him in a language he didn’t understand.

***

Dean had spotted the signs for the waffle house a few miles ago. Everyone was hungry and needing to stretch their legs, so they decided, over a phone call with Mary, that waffles were in order. The world could look after itself for a bit longer.

There was only a booth for four and a table for two available, and somehow Sam had ended up with Max at the table for two. The table made Sam feel ridiculously large, forcing him to keep his legs low so he didn’t bump his knees. It meant his legs were beside Max’s, to stop Sam from tripping up other diners or serving staff. Max kept bumping his knees into Sam’s and it was obviously on purpose.

Sam ordered a large pecan waffle, a load of syrup and fresh fruit. Max ordered the same and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Sam, making him blush. When they had their food, they took their time eating, legs pressed together, nervousness clear. Slowly the waffle house cleared of whatever rush crowd had forced them into this position and it came to be that only the Winchesters and their friends were in the diner.

The seats Max and Sam had been in had slowly been gravitating together. Waffles gone and on their third cups of coffee, Sam found himself intensely studying the movement of Max licking his lips.

“Sam?” Max asked quietly, eyes boring into him.

Leaning forward in his seat, bumping their legs together once more, Sam kissed Max lightly on the lips and then Max kissed him back, gentle but getting surer. A slow clap started from where Dean, Cas, Mary and Alicia sat, making Max and Sam pull apart.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Dean drawled. He was clearly looking forward to ripping into Sam about his newfound crush.

“Ignore him,” Max murmured and drew Sam into another kiss. So Sam did.

Until Dean put an ice cube from Castiel’s soda down the back of his shirt. Then Sam stopped ignoring Dean and chased him around the waffle house while their friends and family laughed their asses off.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this fic. I hope so much that you have enjoyed it.
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated. I will endeavor to respond to all comments.
> 
> You can find me over on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com).
> 
> Find the general fic master post on [LJ here](http://hit-the-books.livejournal.com/884.html) (I'm not really active on LJ).


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